Cyd & Olin - Unwelcome Interloper

Olin busied himself retrieving spice shakers, shaking his head at Cyd's question. Was he a culinary student in France? His father would have never allowed such a thing.

“Nono nothing formal. My father had a prospective business partner and his son was supposed to inherit the position so you know, they want me to make nice with him. I took him showed him a good time, and introduced him to the French underground … it had to have been at least 2 am and we were coming down and stopped at this small hole-wall place that made the best grilled cheese sandwiches. He confessed how much he loved food and wished he knew make himself, he always wanted to cook but never learned. So we faked important business meetings and we took cooking classes together. My father got his merger and I made good friend and learned to cook.” Olin chuckled.

‘They have to have an amazing rave scene,” Cyd gushed. “And good for you - seeing an opportunity and seizing it.”

“French raves can be really off the wall but the good one? The club is nice but the legendary raved. You be invited, and the person who invites you acts as your guide. Plus you need to learn to read a map and get a good headlamp.”

“I would kill to do something like that here, in the old abandoned subway tunnels,” Cyd told him. “Kill.”

Olin gave a laugh. “No no … deeper … much deeper all the down in the necropolises. Insanely illegal and equally dangerous but worth it to rave with the dead.”

“That had to be the hottest sentence in the English language,” Cyd laughed, pretending to fan herself with a napkin. “Our raves are nothing like that.”

“Every place has something unique to offer.” Olin said with a chuckle. “Here, they have Cyd Skye and parties that crawl all over the place and the best party favors.”

“DJ Digi Kitty,” Cyd corrected with a smile, making a claw hand for emphasis. “Mathias, after our first rave made me some cat ears out of copper wire, and we rolled with it. He’s the Candyman, with all the party favors. You,” she smiled again, softer. “You don’t need a rave
persona. You’re Olin.”

Olin put his hands up in submission with a wry grin. “Never really got a raver name but I am happy to be enough as is.”

“Next party you throw, you should mix a couple of sets, DJ Olin.” Cyd avised, matching his grin. “You have the look, raw talent, and from the sound of it, some sick gear. People would be all over that,” she told him. “And if you want to know if they’re just playing you up for who you are? That’s what Marshmello, BassBall and them wear masks.”

“I dunno it would feel a little tacky slinging songs at my own party. But if there happens to be a wild rave down at Sprawl maybe I could catch two kitties with one stone.” Olin said with a shrug.

“Any given Friday night,” Cyd offered. “Some Saturdays, but business is always better on Fridays. Payday for most and they haven’t had a chance to spend it on anything else. Mathias can make double what he…” she let the sentence hang, taking a sip of coffee. Talking finances with Olin? C’mon, Cyd, she chastised. Use your brain. .

Olin cracked a smile. “Rich people about money too. Just add a couple more zeros to the end and a sense of entitlement.” He joked. “Mathias is a smart guy and the only thing that stops people like him from real success is connections. Unfortunately, a lot of time talent is secondary to who knows.”

“Mathias is smart,” Cyd added. “Genius level smart, school was easy for him, things just kind of stuck. And chemistry - that’s why he’s the Candyman. No one can hold a candle to what he can create. Safe, no addictions, just good time party drugs.”

“I know for a fact people have been trying to copycat his signature pills. So far it is one of the best-kept secrets in Carbon City.” Onlin noted. “But today, breakfast is about me, you and music. Refill?” He offered.

“Please,” Cyd said, holding out her cup.

Olin smiled letting his finger brush her as he took the cup to refill. “So next Friday? Might that count as a date? I don’t mind if it’s a working date.”

Cyd bit her bottom lip and nodded. “People will talk,” she teased. “It’s a date.” He had a devilish glint in his eye that gave her butterflies, but that feeling was quickly dashed by a knock on the Penthouse door.

“Olin?” His ‘personal assistant’ called. Varan was a fixture around Olin, though she managed to make herself scarce at his legendary parties. Hired by the family itself, she was tasked with keeping Olin’s schedule, and making sure he wouldn’t do anything to bring shame to the company or company name. Further shame, if you asked Lars, the patriarch of the family.

Olin let out a long breath passing the refilled mug to Cyd. “Varan, what magnificently terrible timing. Omelet?”

Varan let herself in, crinkling her nose. “No thanks. I came to remind you that you have a video conference this afternoon, and I think we should review the numbers before you get on the call. And I wanted to see if your guest needed anything. Change of clothes, cab ride home,” she paused, “credits left on the nightstand?”

“... And suddenly why I can’t get a date makes more sense.” Olin said under his breath. “Is this schedule suddenly being pushed on me on a Saturday because clearly I have nothing better to do? I assure you I am not drunk or high enough to thoroughly embarrass the family properly.”

“I have faith you’ll find a way,” Varan scoffed, pouring herself a glass of juice. “Shall I send for a car?”

Cyd gave a small nervous laugh. “No rest for the wicked?” She asked Olin.

“Oh, I’m wicked now am I?” Olin asked with a devilish smile.

“Incredibly,” Cyd replied, already anticipating Friday night. She flicked her eyes, giving him a once over and couldn’t help giving a coy smile in return.

“Sorry, I was very distracted, something about a car?” Olin looked to Varan innocently crunching on some bacon.

“I can manage,” Cyd assured him. “The metro is easier for me anyway.” She eyed him over one more time, thirsty, but not for coffee or juice. “Friday then?”

“Friday, you sure I can at least pay for a cab?” He asked with a puppy-like tilt of his head.

Varan placed a cred stick on the table, sliding it to Cyd. “For the Metro,” she advised, but Cyd was still losing herself in Olin’s eyes.

“I have a return ticket,” she said absently, getting up from the table, keeping her blue eyes fixed on his. “I’ll just go grab my things.”

“Make sure that’s all you grab,” Varan warned, snatching the cred stick back from the table.

“Annnnd ruining moment …” Olin said hanging his head.

“Someone has to look after you,” Varan reminded him, as Cyd went to dress and collect her things. Making another face, she picked up Cyd’s dishes as if they were laced with something toxic, and placed them in the dishwasher.

Olin walked Cyd to the door like a gentleman, placing a finger under her chin to tilt her head upwards, brushing his lips against hers.

“Friday,” she whispered when the kiss broke. As the elevator doors opened and Cyd stepped inside, she felt giddy and slightly lightheaded. Mathias’ drugs couldn’t simulate that, she thought. If they could? They’d definitely be rich.